


Call me, maybe

by GwenChan



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is a Dork, Cecil is Mostly Human, I just love those two, M/M, Night Vale is weird, Phone Call, otp, third eye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2220708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenChan/pseuds/GwenChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes people just don't call"<br/>And sometimes a person simply need months to pick up the phone.<br/>All the times Carlos called Cecil</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call me, maybe

When Cecil gave him his phone number the pteranodon-slash-pterodactyl issue had already been taken care of and History Week had yet to come. Carlos couldn’t remember the exact day, but he was pretty sure it happened between those two major events.

To be honest, the radio host had tried to give him his home phone number, mobile phone number, address, fiscal code and blood type the very first day Carlos arrived in Night Vale, right after the press conference, but he was so distracted by the third purple eye in the middle of Cecil’s forehead that he couldn’t remember a single word of the entire conversation. Moreover, on the way home Carlos spent the entire time wondering how Cecil managed to arrive to the town hall, listen to an hour long presentation and return to the radio booth in the time of a sponsor ad of five minutes, jingles included.

Eventually, he found a note attached to the lab door, with a number and the phrase “In case of need. Cecil”. An eye was drawn at the bottom of the paper and Carlos had the slightly uncomfortable impression that it was supposed to be a heart, an anatomic-like one, before Cecil changed his mind for some unknown reason. Who knows, maybe he was shy, although Carlos doubted it.

He memorized the number, even if he had been sincerely tempted to get rid of it, because, as far as willingly to help Cecil could pretend to be, he was still acting very much like a stalker. A creepy one.

However, the Voice of Night Vale seemed to be the third (or the fourth) most important person in town, according to Carlos’ personal list. He hadn’t figured out if Cecil was more or less significant than the Sheriff. Well, at least, he didn’t beat him so hard he could barely move the upper part of his body for half a week just because he tried to follow a hooded figure in order to take samples for scientific analysis. He could have called Cecil for help that time. It would have been an extremely good time for a call. Unfortunately, he hadn’t Cecil number yet.

That’s why he inserted the name Cecil Palmer in the address book of his mobile phone. Nothing special. No caller ID. No speed dial. Just a number among hundreds of other numbers, most of which belonged to people he hadn’t heard from in ages.

Rochelle, the youngest of his team of scientists, an undergraduate who decided to go on sabbatical in a crazy place for preparing her final work, peeped over his shoulder and chuckled.

“I would have saved it as ‘the creepy radio host who inexplicably has a crush on me’,” she suggested, hiding her smile behind a beaker. Carlos snorted.

“It is far too long, and he hasn’t a crush on me. He just…”

"Speaks about you every time he has the chance. You do remember what happened to that barber after he you cut your hair, right?" Rochelle interrupted, still smiling.

"Maybe just a little."

Rochelle again ignored him. “Last time he claimed that your blue T-shirt, the one with E=Mc2 printed on it, suited you perfectly. I mean, to me it is very much like a crush. Oh, he also complains about how you never listen to him,” she added.

"That’s probably true"

"What?"

“The fact that I don’t listen to him all the time. I get distracted. Never mind. It doesn’t matter,” he concluded, making his way to his working post and pretending to find a colony of slime green bacteria extremely interesting. Well, they were abnormal for sure and in less than two weeks they had already built a town out of dust, literally, and written a poem. Night Vale, guys.

Because Cecil had this deep, round voice, which became even deeper when he was doing radio talk, that made it impossible for Carlos to focus on anything else. He listened to Cecil’s voice, not to Cecil’s show. Cecil had this voice that could make a huge black hole appearing from nowhere in the middle of the street absolutely normal.  Carlos always got distracted when meeting Cecil in person because the radio host was peculiar, with every inch of shown skin covered in tattoos, those purple stripes in his otherwise brown hair, usually held in a small ponytail, and that third eye, usually closed, in the middle of the forehead. Carlos had enough knowledge of Hindu mythology to remember the third eye was often linked to Interior vision and Clairvoyance. “This? Oh, yes. I can see almost everything happening in town. But don’t worry. It only works on Night Valian native citizens and I’m not rude. I’m not like the Vague, Yet Menacing Government Agency. I know privacy is important,” Cecil assured him. Carlos gulped, unsure. Privacy didn’t seem to be a thing in Night Vale.

 ***

Time was the thing that bothered Carlos more than anything else. He could close an eye to a mysterious pyramid appearing from nowhere and he could also pretend to believe it was just part of a big marketing campaign, as Cecil had assured on the radio. He could watch a dozen of plastic bags being dragged to the Dog Park, as they were dangerous and rabid feral dogs. He could get to the point of accepting the fact that a mysterious Glow Cloud, after having poured down an entire Noah’s Ark of death animals on the city, was accepted as president of the School board. Hypnosis, probably. Also terror. Night Vale citizens, after an entire life of obeying upper orders for their own safety, didn’t have a strong will.

Nevertheless, those minutes that had passed in every place of the world, except from Night Vale, made him stay awake all night. He spent the entire day in the lab, watching a clock like it could disclose an ancient secret not to be known about, and then laid in bed, still sleepless, with the hot desert wind blowing outside the window. He had made a great discovery, for sure. Probably the greatest since he put a foot onto Night Vale soil. A terrifying one, too. Discoveries about time were always both great and terrifying, because being told that, maybe, time is working a little different from someone expected was enough to open a hole of uncertainty in the middle of the chest. A black void of terror. Being pulled away from the reassuring concept of seconds, minutes and hours, all precise and tidy was enough to cause madness.

The whole community should have been aware of his discovery and Carlos knew exactly the easiest and fastest way. Well, mostly easy and fast.

He scrolled down the address book, clicking on Cecil’s name. His hands were slightly shaking, but he had never been good with phone calls and he was calling the radio host after a long time. Well, months. Luckily, Cecil answered, filling every “ooh”s of his with expectation, as if he believed Carlos was about to reveal the thoughts of the universe. Or, eventually asking him out on a date. With Cecil there was no middle ground.

Nevertheless, the call left Carlos with a strange taste in his mouth, not a bad one really, and the sound of a single word in his ears: neat.

It was the first time he called Cecil.

He called him again in the next few days, according to those voicemails Cecil listened to while on air. The problem was Carlos did remember the first and the last one. The second, however, was an absolutely black spot.

Black as the coffee Cecil drank during their meeting.

 ***

The second time Carlos called Cecil, he had just survived an attack from a civilization of tiny people.

The wound they’d inflicted on him had turned out to be a superficial one, of the type that spilled a large amount of blood, but wasn’t deathly. Carlos had suffered from anemia and low blood pressure since boyhood and a single cut was enough to make him pass out. It was terribly embarrassing. It had always been. It made him feel weak, a thing a scientist should never be. A scientist must be strong and brave. That was the fifth thing a scientist must be. Luckily he wasn’t afraid of blood.

Leaning back on the driver seat of his coupe, Carlos examined the irregular, slightly oval shaped spot on his flannel shirt with a critical eye. He had never liked dust, garbage, or filth. As a scientist - and one who was truly devoted to his work - he preferred a clean, tidy, and – scientifically speaking - cold environment. Thanks to icy steel surfaces and plastic beakers he could still believe that a certain order existed in the world, that somehow a person could recompose the chaotic jigsaw puzzle of life. He used to believe all of this once, before he came to Night Vale. He still believed it, just not as much as before.

Carlos took his phone from his pocket, watched its screen and sighed. He remembered that sound, the guttural noise Cecil made during the program that afternoon. That “I can’t” pierced his ears even when he was half-dead. Nobody had ever seemed so devastated at the idea of him dying. Nobody, except from family members, of course. Especially not a person he barely knew.

Except that Cecil was no longer a complete mystery as he was one year ago. Except that twelve months had already passed since he spoke about Carlos’ perfect hair for the first time. Except that Carlos started not to feel as a complete outsider anymore.

Of all the people he was in contact with, Cecil was the only one he wanted to see right then and there.

Because, because he may have really died and been stuck in some kind of limbo and he needed, he desperately needed to see Cecil. He needed it to reassure himself to be still alive.

Carlos felt like another piece of the jigsaw was put into place when Cecil answered the call. He waited for him to arrive.

"After all that happened, I just wanted to see you," he explained and saw it in Cecil’s expression. Surprise. Happiness.

 ***

After the episode, he didn’t call Cecil for another month. Carlos was like that, he liked to take things slowly, in small pills. He was patient - the seventh thing a scientist must be - and precise. He didn’t like to rush events, even though it meant to lose the right moment. He promised to himself this time he would not miss it. 

The sun was bright in the hot summer sky, the color of the sky was a beautiful turquoise with touches of lavender, like stripes in heaven’s braids. Even the spot of void flying and buzzing five inches above the ground near Big Rico’s seemed absolutely normal. The fact that it had begun to swallow people, spitting them out as shadows was only another of Night Vale’s oddities that should be treated as “non-existent”.

His palms were sweaty on the plastic case of his phone, fingers sliding on the touch screen. Asking Cecil out for a date shouldn’t have to be so hard. After all, fearing a rejection was nothing but utterly silly, not after the radio host had made it clear he had been waiting for it since they first met.

Carlos feared Cecil may have changed his mind. Still, he had to prove it. In Science, all had to be proved. It was all theories and experiments, with a series of established passage. A phone call was not different.

Choose the contact, wait and speak. That sounded simple, but wasn’t in practice.

"I called for personal reason," he began, voice shaking in the microphone. "Would you like to… I mean, we could… if you are free of course". Cecil completed the sentence for him.

"This afternoon would be perfect." 

Cecil was good with words and Carlos, silently, was grateful for it.

*** 

The fourth time he called Cecil in a proper manner, he was in a queue in front of a series of pitch black cubes. Around him, several people waved their fists full of dollars and any other accepted currency in Night Vale.

The cubes seemed perfect in every way. They were solid, clean, squared, smooth as obsidian to the touch. Mystery filled them, every inch of them, covering their surfaces and Carlos was also very hypnotized by their features.

While composing Cecil’s number, he was sure a low sound came from the condos. Attraction, like a strong perfume, poured under their invisible doors.

"I want to buy a condo for us", he should have said. "I want to ignore statistics, math and probabilities for a second and believe we could actually live together. I want to throw the warning signal "failure" out of my mind and try something new for good."

He would have said all of this. He truly wanted to. Instead, he talked about throat spiders, vocal cords surgery, and then he wanted to smash his head on the nearest wall for how goofy he had been.

Despite what Cecil believed, he was not perfect. He was as far from perfection as our galaxy could be far from the next one. As thought could be far from action. He forgot to wash or eat while in the middle of a very important experiment; he chewed far too loudly; he lost track of time. He was too focused on science and too little on social life.

Still, he wished to share all those flaws with someone else. He wished to share a life with the person he had grown to love, a person who didn’t see his flaws, that had started to see them and didn’t care.  He called Cecil again before being absorbed by the condo.

 ***

There was a house in Night Vale that didn’t exist. It was between two other houses that exist, so it would have made more sense for it to being there than not.

It took nearly two years for the scientists to pick up the courage to knock at the door, only to discover that a woman had been living there for nineteen years (the House was only a few years old) and that the intern was nothing like what the team could see from outside the window. Well, till today.  Rochelle was the one to enter the house, running out of it half an hour later, as soon as one of them opened the door. She was mumbling and shaking.

“Good job,” Carlos complimented Rochelle, who was eating the last sandwich with a scared look in her eyes. “Thanks. Gonna put that in my CV. My final work will rock,” she replied, mouth half full of bread and eggs.  He watched the house again, focusing on the old oak door that had appeared from nowhere that morning. Well, not exactly from nowhere. Either his memory had started to fail, to great joy of the SCP and the City Council, or he remembered Cecil talking about John Peters – you know, the farmer – and a door just like this some months before. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then ran fingers through messy hair, which had way more touches of gray compared to two years ago.  “We will be right here to let you out,” his team reassured him. Carlos nodded, waving back.

“I know. Just wait for a moment. I have to do a thing before. I’ll be quick”. He ignored the muffled giggles at his back while putting the mobile phone to his left ear. He knew Cecil was on air and that his phone may have been on silent mode. Carlos had the growing idea that the Voice of Night Vale would have been far more than happy to let the whole town be aware of his sentimental life. However, while the new management claimed to be more open and less terrifying than the previous one (Carlos had no sufficient data to compare the two), StrexCorp appeared to disapprove of any attempt to make the day less productive. Neither Carlos nor Cecil trusted the company or its vice president, Lauren. Well, after what happened with Khoshekh, Cecil struggled to keep his deep hate secret.  For instance, he planned a short call while waiting for Cecil to pick up the phone.  He searched words to reassure his boyfriend he would be safe, perfectly safe. Besides, he was the one in charge of the five scientists team

A scientist is responsible and self-reliant. Being self reliant is the first thing a scientist is. A scientist doesn’t send other teammates to do a job they can handle, especially a dangerous one.  He called Cecil believing he would be back in a minute.

 ***

When Carlos decided to stop counting all his phone calls to Cecil, he was stuck in the middle of a desert from another dimension which succeeded in the not so easy job of being weirder than Night Vale itself. He stopped counting because he couldn’t turn his phone on anymore. He canceled the calls tracker and shut of the device to save battery. He stopped counting them because that had become impossible to do and, if he spent all the time focusing on this topic, he wouldn’t have the time to find a way back. He always shut off his cell phone while doing some experiments and in the middle of a desert is not different. He was sure the phone couldn’t work, so he never bothered turning it on. He will use it again back in Night vale, not a second before. 

Carlos mostly walked, sand cracking under his sneakers, blowing through his curly hair. He walked, trying to go straight, trying to mark the path like Hansel and Gretel (by the way, the version Cecil told him was far creepier than the one Carlos remembered from his childhood days), but every single time he found himself with no way to orient himself. Everything looked exactly the same and there was no way to know for how long he had walked. The only recognizable feature was a mountain with a lighthouse on the top of it. The lighthouse light blinked red. It was the same mountain which had manifested in Night Vale scrubland way back, the one Carlos was sure to be a mirage. He hadn’t changed his mind yet, because a mountain that couldn’t be reached, no matter how much he walked, seemed  nothing but a mirage.

Sometimes he was sure he felt his phone buzzing, but ignored it.  He was walking when Dana eventually found him, leading an army of giant masked warriors. He had met the radio intern a couple of times before she got trapped in the Dog Park, so he was able to recognize her. She was dirtier than him, having spent more time away from home, but her face burned with hope and determination. Dana taught him the trick she learned from intern Maureen, that tilting of the head that allowed people to teleport to places. It took days for Carlos until he reached some results, nevermind mastering it. After all, he wasn’t born in Night Vale where children learned to do astral projection before they could properly walk. All that paranormal stuff was new to him, so he struggled. He struggled until he succeeded and when that happened he felt happy like he hadn’t been in weeks. He managed to see Cecil again.  Dana was also the one that told him the phone worked perfectly in that desert. After that discovery, he called Cecil as soon as he could,  but Cecil didn’t answer. Carlos knew the Voice of Night Vale may have been busy with the revolution against StrexCorp, but it still was like having a heavy burden on his chest. Though it wasn’t a farewell, he wished Cecil could hear his goodbye in person. He left a voicemail, half smiling, like an unexpected gift to be open by your loved one. After all he was sure Cecil would call back super soon.

***

In the middle of a desert, wandering for weeks, even months, Carlos found himself to be grateful for his mobile phone as he had never believed to be because it had become the one and only contact with the old world, the only way to receive news from Night Vale, from Cecil.  His heart leapt with desperation when the  device broke and twirled with joy when it spontaneously healed itself. It was strange, yet fascinating. He held the phone tight to his chest, jumping on his feet and swirling on his toes. Carlos hugged the phone like he would have hugged Cecil, feeling his skin covered in purple tattoos under fingers, breathing his scent of coffee, smoke and paper, longing for his deep and warm voice.

Afterwards, he pressed the “call button”, and waited.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by tumblr user
> 
> [paint-the-wall-with-bullets](http://paint-the-wall-with-bullets.tumblr.com)


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